


hear the choir bells sing

by dogworldchampion



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, holt is a Dad, jake is a terrified nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogworldchampion/pseuds/dogworldchampion
Summary: It’s only half an hour into this stakeout, but to Jake it feels like it’s been an eternity. There’s a ring box burning a hole in his pocket, and a jumbled mess of ideas in his head. He knows Amy wouldn’t want him turning to anyone for approval, but the longer they sit in this car, the more inclined he is to ask Holt for advice.





	hear the choir bells sing

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr (@the-pontiac-bandit) - let me know what you think, either there or in the comments section!!

Something is bothering Detective Jake Peralta. Raymond Holt isn’t sure what quite yet, but Peralta has only spoken three times since they parked the car half an hour ago, and, perhaps even more concerning, Peralta let Holt choose the music. Brahms dances through the still air of the car, but Raymond can't even bring himself to enjoy it.

That's a lie. He’s enjoying it a little.

At minute thirty eight of what is possibly the least interesting stakeout in history, Peralta, who has been eerily still, begins to fidget. By minute forty seven, he has maintained 247 consecutive seconds of movement, and Raymond is beginning to wonder if he should say something to the boy, who is now sitting cross-legged and drumming along to the beat of the classical music he claims to hate.

At minute forty eight, Ray Holt has convinced himself that he should break the silence. For all his talk of hating conversation, he secretly enjoys the constant stream of consciousness that flows out of Peralta’s mouth - an excellent source of white noise (at the thought, his lips twitch into what he considers a broad grin as he remembers his first stakeout at the Nine Nine, years earlier, when Santiago told him he should view Peralta’s constant monologue as just that. She was right - she almost always is.)

He decides he should be careful in how he inquires about Detective Peralta’s mental wellbeing - after all, he has no desire to make him uncomfortable or step over the line of appropriate workplace small talk. Currently, his two top ideas for ways to broach the silence are commenting on the weather and inquiring about the store at which Peralta purchased his leather jacket. Before he can settle on the appropriate course of action, however, Peralta has cleared his throat and (finally) settled again in his seat, his twitchy hands stilling and his legs unfolding and moving back to the floor of the car.

“Sir, how did you and Kevin get engaged?”

“I don't think this is much of a proposal story, Peralta. We heard gay marriage had been legalized and then headed straight for City Hall.”

Jake looks a little disappointed. “That's it, really? _Nothing_ else? How did you tell Kev you wanted to get married?”

“...Kev?” Raymond knows exactly to whom Peralta is referring, of course, but he does love to, as Jake puts it, “pull his leg”. He sits still, waiting for clarification, enjoying Peralta’s increasing frustration immensely (even more so because it is such a remarkably quick return to normalcy from the silent stress of a few minutes before).

Finally, Jake relents. “Dr. Kevin Middle-Name Cozner. You knew exactly _whom_ I was talking about!” He turns to his captain with a broad, self-satisfied grin. “Aren't you super-duper proud of my use of _whom_ ? Since “I” was the subject of the clause, you use _whom_! Amy’s been teaching me grammar, and I am hella killin’ it.”

Raymond represses a chuckle with great difficulty. “Still incorrect, Detective. It would be ‘about whom I was speaking.’ It seems as though Santiago has more work to do, especially since you used the phrase ‘hella killin’ it’ as part of a legitimate sentence.”

“Still an improvement!” Jake retorts cheerfully. Then, a pause, and when he speaks again, Raymond can detect the slightest note of apprehension in his words. “So, could you answer the question?”

Raymond sighs, digging through his memories as the music goes to commercial. “Damn these Spoe-tie-fee ads,” he mutters as he tries to recall a casual conversation from what feels like a century ago when he was a young hot-shot detective with - he believed at the time - the world’s biggest crush on an idealistic classics professor.

“You _know_ it’s Spotify, Captain.”

“I did not.” Raymond retorts. Then, he takes a deep breath and continues. “Do you know the story of Orpheus?”

“Sir, of course I don’t.”

“Right. Well, Orpheus was a musician in Greek mythology, a truly gifted one, and when his wife died, he played his harp through hell to save her. When he found Eurydice, his music softened the god of death’s heart enough that he allowed her to return to the mortal realm, on the condition that Orpheus not once look back to make sure his wife followed him on the way out. As he approached the mortal realm, however, Orpheus made the fatal error of glancing behind himself. When he did, his wife vanished forever.”

“Well, that was horribly depressing!” Jake replies cheerfully. “In what world does this turn into a heartwarming proposal story?”

“I never called it a proposal story. In any case, a new version of the myth resurfaced shortly after Kevin and I moved in together. He was invited to contribute to the translation process - a huge opportunity - and when he told me, we got to discussing the myth itself. Finally, Kevin commented entirely offhand, ‘I wonder if partners have visiting rights in hell, or if it’s only spouses,’ to which I replied that I was fully prepared to say whatever words necessary to improve my chances of recovering him from the underworld. It’s all unrealistic sentimental drivel, of course, but it was effective, and three years later, we found ourselves at City Hall, no questions asked.”

Peralta’s mouth is hanging open a little bit. “Captain! That was shockingly sweet! You’re a secret romantic!”

Holt pinches his lips. “I most _certainly_ am not.” Then, he remembers why he told this story in the first place. “Why did you need to know?”

Peralta is silent for a few seconds. His fingers are tapping frantically against his jeans, outlining a vaguely orange stain that Raymond is certain Detective Santiago has tried to remove on multiple occasions to no avail. The boy’s propensity for permanent stains is truly unique.

Then, Peralta is speaking, his words tripping over each other in their haste to escape his mouth. “So, I love Amy. Like, _love_ love her. Like super-romantic-stylez. And I love living with her and being with her and the thought of not doing those things with her forever is _awful_ so I got to thinking maybe I should tell her I was thinking about forever because I know she's always planning and she’d want to factor that in and then I got this _ring_ and it cost more than a massage chair which is _insane_ and who spends that much on a ring except I somehow did and it's been burning a hole in my pocket for two weeks and I want to ask her but I don't know what to say or how to say it and I’m trying not to panic but it’s scary and what if she says no and marriage isn't on the life calendar above the bed so I don't know when it fits in her plan and is it even a good idea and whatdoIdoIfiguredyou’dknow?”

Finished, Jake sits back, panting a little as he regains his breath after a monologue truly worthy of Shakespeare - in length, at least, if not in eloquence.

Holt sits still for nearly a minute, processing the veritable deluge of words that had just hit him. Finally, slowly and carefully (he feels keenly the importance of his next words), he states, “So, you're thinking of marrying Amy.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m a mess and she’s perfect and it sounds insane and she trusts you and I trust you - ew, being serious is the _worst_ \- and I figured you'd know what to do because she thinks you do everything perfect and I don't even _know_ any Greek myths, much less ones about Elephant or Orphiman or whatever and I almost rented a lion cub for this last week and I _know_ that’s wrong and--”

Raymond raises his hand slightly, and Jake falls silent instantly. He pauses for a moment, then decides on his course of action. “Jake, first, I want to congratulate you on this remarkable step. I never would have believed when Sergeant Jeffords first introduced you to me that I would see such maturity from you. Second, my only useful advice for you - aside from the fact that you should avoid any violently carnivorous species, no matter how endearing they are on the website - is to be honest, to be true to yourself and to Amy. You don't need to know Greek mythology, or even the identities of Will Shortz or Andy Borowitz, because she is choosing to be with _you_ , Jacob Peralta, and that is far more important than your ability to emulate her love of classics or mathematics.”

“How did _math_ end up in this?” Jake looks horrified at the thought.

“It...it didn't. Just be honest with her like you were with me - although maybe practice with some pauses for breath so you don’t lose consciousness before the end of your proposal.”

“So...you think it sounds like a good idea? To marry Amy? You think she’d like that?” The boy sounds almost painfully hopeful, and it makes Raymond’s heart twinge - he sounds so remarkably similar to a dangerously optimistic college professor who bought a car on impulse for the love of his life.

Raymond thinks about the question for a second, though he already knows his answer. He thinks of the way that Jake has always looked at Amy - an expression Gina described appropriately as “Peralta heart-eyes” during one of their dish sessions. He thinks of their ridiculous bet, and the sight of the pair dancing in used costumes at a ballroom dancing competition. He thinks of how ragged Santiago looked when Jake was undercover, long before they were dating, and how devastated she was when he was in jail. He finds humor in the memory of Jake and Amy killing their captain and the image of Amy failing to burn Jake’s sole towel, and feels the pain of watching Jake eat a soaking wet burrito alone in Florida and seeing the air rush out of Amy’s lungs at the word _guilty_.

He remembers a conversation with Kevin once, when he was still relatively new to the precinct. It was late and they were in bed, Cheddar curled happily between them. Holt had just finished telling Kevin about Peralta’s decision to punch Jimmy Brogan, and about the admiration that saturated Santiago’s voice as she relayed the events.

_“Detectives Santiago and Peralta seem...fond of each other,” Kevin had observed, doing his best to be nonchalant in his veiled inquiry._

_“They certainly are.”_

_“Are they...anything other than partners?”_

_“Not yet, but I think that one day, they might be. They’re very well-matched.”_

And then Jake clears his throat, looking a little terrified, and Holt remembers that there’s a question he’s supposed to answer.

“I think it’s an excellent idea, Jake. I think Amy loves you more than you know, and I truly hope that you will find a lifetime of happiness with each other. So when the time is right, find this honesty again and just _ask_.”

The tension that has been holding Jake unnaturally upright since they began this stakeout nearly an hour before floods out of his body immediately at Raymond’s words. A smile breaks large and wide and relaxed across the younger man’s face and at the sight Raymond becomes aware that the expression is mirrored on his own face, where it feels like the corners of his mouth must be touching his ears. He must look ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care.

“You totally approve of us,” Peralta whispers, sounding more than a little shocked.

Clearing his throat, suddenly wishing a little bit that they could step back across the line into a comfortable area of workplace proximity associateship (this has been more than enough emotion for the month), his captain replies, “Yes - I suppose I do.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, they’ve stopped the drug deal that originally sent them away from the precinct that morning and successfully confiscated more than 20 kilos of heroin.

As they hand off their perps to the beat cops on duty outside the precinct to be put in the holding cell while Jake and Holt log evidence, Raymond catches sight of a small box-shaped lump in Jake’s back pocket.

“Jake,” he says, catching his detective’s attention. He’s not sure what his intentions are himself until he realizes that he has wrapped his arms around Jake in what must be one of the first hugs he's given to someone other than Kevin in _years_. Jake stills for a second in shock before enthusiastically returning the hug.

“I’m proud of you, and I wish both you and Amy the best, son,” he says quietly.

Jake’s only response is to squeeze him a bit tighter for a second before releasing him and turning to walk into the precinct.

“You're a _surprisingly_ great hugger, by the way! Can’t wait to tell Amy!”

And then the door is closing behind him and Raymond allows himself one small smile before he returns to his office.

And a week later, when Amy shakes hands with her left hand instead of her right - nothing short of a _shocking_ breach of protocol, according to Section 10, page 237 of Mentorship Binder 2 - to subtly display the small diamond glinting on her ring finger, his heart feels like it might burst.


End file.
